To honor Grandma's eightieth year.
I do not know how many more
Of birthdays you may have in store.
It is not within our ken to know,
Just how much further you may have to go
Before you reach the end.
But whether near or far,
We all will meet you at the "Gates Ajar."
In my younger days I had been accustomed somewhat occasionally to indulge myself in the attempt of writing what out of courtesy to my literary qualifications might be called poetry, though my life was too busy a life to indulge much in sentiment or even to indulge much in imagination. Some time the year before I wrote this for my wife's birthday, I composed and wrote the following for the benefit of the Early Settler's Association of Polk county, which was sung with considerable enthusiasm at several of their picnic celebrations. The song is sung to the tune of "John Brown's body lies a mouldering in the grave," and is as follows:
The early settlers' picnic has come around again,